


Quarantine

by Cosmic_Biscuit



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Gen, Mild Gore, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Biscuit/pseuds/Cosmic_Biscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not always easy to play nursemaid to the dead, even when you don't have a pulse to worry about yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wickedorin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedorin/gifts).



The only places to get what he needed were in the Bronze Stage. While the residents of the Gold Stage may have prided themselves in being able to import the best of everything from around the world, nothing there fit the sole criteria on his list, especially not since the wealthy had started closing themselves off from the rest of the city in a deluded notion that they would be protected if they just kept the less fortunate out.

The place he ended up choosing was a tiny little butcher shop almost hidden among the tall buildings and alleyways. They specialized in kosher and halal and, most importantly, they slaughtered all of their own meat daily. 

And the freshness of the kill was essential.

The woman at the counter raised an eyebrow at his specification that the cuts absolutely had to be from the most recent kill they had, but when he offered extra money to back up the request, she gave him a curt nod and ordered her grown son out to the slaughter room.

He waited patiently for his order to be completed, using his enhanced hearing to listen to the breakfast gossip in the cafe next door. Another self-proclaimed fire brigade had popped up in the neighborhood last week. They were making a lot of noise about trying to draw out Lunatic to be their leader, but the lethal vigilante had been quiet for nearly a month.

Probably trying to hunt the source NEXT like anyone else with any sense, rather than flamebroiling every infected victim they came across. For all the fire brigades tried to make themselves into the new protectors of Sternbild, it was all nothing but panicked posturing and swinging of blowtorches. More murders piling up on top of the bodies that had already gone down.

The son returned and the woman gave him a hefty, paper-wrapped package. He thanked them both politely in Farsi, handed over the money, and left. Once his sensors registered no one in an immediate enough vicinity to see him, he activated the boosters in his legs to make the trip back to Apollon a little quicker.

When it came to his mission, time was vital.

===

He shed his shaded glasses when the building doors closed behind him, revealing glowing red eyes. The receptionist, now familiar with his presence, didn’t even look up from the appointment reports she was filing as he passed, and he went straight to the elevators.

Deep in the laboratory recesses, he passed by Saito’s lab, where he saw Wild Tiger deep in argument with Maverick. Probably about the circumstances of the search again. He tended not to pay too much attention, but from what he’d gleaned over weeks, Kaburagi was deeply unhappy that they were being required to only conduct the search in shifts, still keeping most of the focus on their show.

Kaburagi didn’t like a lot of things, least of all him, but at least in this one case, he was in agreement with his organic counterpart. Finding the NEXT causing the current situation and stopping anyone else from being infected, killed, or both, seemed like it would be the most logical conclusion. And yet there were those arguing against it for self-serving reasons.

Human politics made his processors heat a little too fast. He opted to ignore the rest of the conversation in favor of completing his assignment. Tapping his codes into the keypad, he opened another hall.

It was morgue-freezer-cold inside. Had to be, since they had no idea what kind of effects heat would have on its sole occupant. The cold didn’t bother him at all, and he crossed the hall to a workstation, where an industrial food processor sat.

While he waited for meat and bone to be broken down, he went and tapped the observation window of the quarantine room the hall connected to. A single body lay in a huddled heap, facing away from him. Bandages swathed the torso in an almost binding pattern, hiding bullet wounds that had never closed.

He shook his head a little, then went to check the closet. For once, they’d listened to his request, providing a set of hospital pajamas and a pillow. Tossing those onto the table, he stopped the processor and unhooked the pitcher.

There was still no response when he first entered the quarantine room, but he knew his charge wasn’t asleep. Neither of them ever slept, just crashed for recharge when absolutely necessary. It was one of the many reasons he’d been assigned as caregiver.

He opened the pitcher. “Barnaby.”

The blond in question finally raised his head a little, before unsteadily pushing himself to his knees, then his feet. Even glazed over with the milky sheen of death, green eyes sharpened at the smell of blood, and the former hero lurched forward.

“No,” he chided, more gently than he would have anyone else. “Do you remember the rules this time?”

Barnaby blinked at him stupidly, then stopped, swaying a little where he was. 

So he could remember commands, now. That had certainly been an improvement over every other time, and he made a note of that in his memory records he would turn over to Saito later. “Good. Just wait right there.”

Setting the pitcher on the table, he backed up enough to grab a chair, keeping an eye on Barnaby to make sure that he continued to obey. The blond stared at the pitcher in an almost lustful state of hunger, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He made a low, inhuman growl of frustration at not being able to have his meal yet, but stayed put until the chair was put between him and the pitcher.

“You’re doing really well, today. Sit.”

Again, Barnaby did as told, and he made a note of three correct commands in a row.

“Good.”

The feeding wasn’t as messy as it had been every other time before. Though Barnaby desperately gulped down every available drop of the mess, for once he hadn’t tried to bite or fight for the pitcher. And it was definitely a long improvement from the first time, where he’d nearly ripped his caretaker’s arm off in an explosion of his NEXT power before eating the bloody meat off the floor like an animal.

The memory servers in his head kept whirring away, recording all this information for the quarantine centers being started up around the city. It was the hope of some scientists that if they could just keep the infected away from the general populace until the rogue NEXT was found, they could eventually rehabilitate or even cure them somehow, and so far, Barnaby seemed to be the undead proof.

His research gathering was important, true, but other than that, he felt little obligation to anyone except the young man shivering in his arms and pitifully pawing at the pitcher for more.

“Nh…”

“You’ll get more later,” he promised, and Barnaby gave up, huddling against him. That need for contact was also new. While Barnaby had given up on trying to bite him the way he still did with human visitors, he’d mostly been reclusive and skittish. Perhaps this was another sign of his mind possibly returning, and he was more than willing to indulge his charge for a few minutes, stroking limp pale curls and running fingers over his bandaged back. Eventually, however, routine called, and he carefully pulled away for the examination.

Barnaby’s weight hadn’t changed at all, and neither had his temperature. Despite having just consumed nearly an entire sheep's worth of meat and blood, he was still registering as the weight he’d been when the infection had ‘killed’ him, and his skin still held the death-blue pallor and temperature. His wounds, though they had never closed, hadn’t started bleeding again, nor was his body reacting as though it was processing anything.

It was as though everything he’d just eaten had vanished into thin air, swallowed by a vortex of ceaseless hunger.

Another symptom on the long list of mysteries that made the infections so frightening and prone to sparking rumors that brought out the fire brigades.

“Mnh…” Barnaby mumbled again when he was pulled away from the diagnostics equipment and back to the chair. This time, he let the blond stay in it instead of moving it away as normal, and fetched the pillow and clothing.

“Come on, let’s see if you can go without shredding it this time,” he coaxed, and Barnaby allowed himself to have his face washed and be manipulated into the pajamas without incident. “Stay there instead of wandering until you drop. Got it?”

There was no response other than those hazy staring eyes, and he took the pitcher and left the quarantine room to clean up.

He keyed himself back out of the observation hallway, and his body automatically adjusted to the temperature change. He went down the hall to deliver his reports and observations, and as he reached Saito’s lab, he saw Kaburagi, still in armor, sitting slumped against the wall, head in hands.

He hesitated, glancing over to Saito’s office, where he could see the deminuative scientist speaking to Maverick over a desk.

Then he decided perhaps their mutual animosity and his reports could wait. Kaburagi looked like he needed a little good news, after all. He cleared his throat, and Kaburagi looked up, expression closing up at the sight of him.

“Don’t look at me like that," he said, leaning against the wall beside his the human.

"I’ve made some new observations regarding your partner.“


End file.
